The Warrior's Bond (Einarinn 4) (55 page)

“Yes, she was alone.” Temar couldn’t restrain a childish grin. “She was still abed and I hardly suppose anyone comes knocking at her door on the dark side of midnight.”

I was about to tell him to mind his manners when his bright smile made me suspicious. “Someone came knocking at your door last night?”

Temar’s attempt to look innocent would have done justice to a cat caught eating cheese. “What has that to do with anything?”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Arashil?”

“No.” He couldn’t hide the triumph in his eyes.

I took a deep breath but let it go. “If you’ve eaten all you want, let’s go and hire a ride.”

Temar followed me out of the kitchen door. I locked it, pocketing the key, and wondered how in Dast’s name I was supposed to get an Imperial dance card for Charoleia by noon.

The alleys in this district were wide, well paved and clean, bringing us out on to a broad street where the morning’s market was selling every fruit, vegetable or cut of meat a busy goodwife might need for the final banquets of Festival. Traders shouted loudly, as eager as anyone else to turn the day’s coin and set about celebrating. I snagged a bunch of grapes from a high-piled basket, tossing coin over to a swarthy man. He caught and pocketed the coppers without taking a breath from his exhortations to passing women. “Fresh as the dew still on it, good enough for any House in the city! Buy double and you can take a day of rest tomorrow, just like the noble ladies who never do half your work!”

That won him a laugh from a stout matron who reminded me of my own mother. She’d be at the markets by now, planning one last intricate meal before everyone returned to the usual routine of workaday life. Mother loved Festivals, especially if she could get us all together, eager for the day when we’d bring wives and best of all children home, to pack around the long table, swapping confidences and news, sharing triumphs and tragedies of the past season and planning ahead for the new. The only problem was that I couldn’t ever see it happening. Mistal’s passing loves usually went down like a pitcher of warm piss with our brothers, and on balance Livak would probably rather have her teeth pulled than spend another Solstice at home with me. Still, even Hansey and Ridner at their most irritating wouldn’t have given me half the anxieties of this Mid-Summer.

“Here!” Raising voice and hand together, I caught the eye of a hireling driver. He pulled up a fresh grey horse.

“Fair Festival,” he said perfunctorily. “Where to?”

“D’Olbriot’s residence?” At his nod we climbed into the battered vehicle, narrow seats facing each other. It was an open carriage, so we both sat silent as the driver chirruped at his horse.

“A few more hires like this and I’ll be stabled early today,” he said cheerfully over his shoulder.

“Good luck, friend.” I leaned back against the cracked leather and studied Temar, who was rapt in some happy recollection. I was sorely tempted to ask. If it hadn’t been Arashil putting a spring in his step, it must have been Charoleia. But what was Charoleia hoping to get out of the lad? What had she learned from their pillow talk? How was I going to handle Temar lost in some romantic haze, given his tendency to fall headlong in love with unattainable women? Charoleia had to be the most unattainable yet.

All right, that was something of an exaggeration, if not downright untruth. It had only been Guinalle who had turned him down flat, bringing him hard up against the realisation that a woman who might agree to share your sheets might yet refuse to share your life. Something else we had in common, I thought wryly. No, before Guinalle had given him pause for thought Temar had been an accomplished flirt according to some of the memories that I wasn’t about to let him know I shared. That was a startling notion. Had he charmed Charoleia into his bed? I didn’t think so. Or didn’t I want to think so? Was my pride injured because she’d travelled that road with him when she’d only taken a few steps along it with me? Was I jealous of Temar? I burst out laughing.

Temar was startled back to the here and now. “What?”

“Nothing.” I could tell he didn’t believe me but there wasn’t much he could do about that in an open carriage.

The roads through the city were comparatively empty for a mid-morning, everyone busy at home preparing for the final day of Festival. The pace picked up as we approached the D’Olbriot residence. Wagons were delivering wine and ale, bread and pastries, all ordered up from the city to spare the House’s cooks for more intricate confections. I could see a sizeable number of the commonalty already walking around the hamlet of grace houses where Stolley’s wife was selling wine spiced with a little first-hand gossip about life in noble service.

Naer was on duty in the gatehouse, all spruced up in his livery. “You’re wanted, both of you, the Sieur’s study.”

I’d have preferred to face Messire clean and shaven, but didn’t dare risk delay. “Come on, Temar.”

We hurried through the gardens. When I knocked on the door it was Camarl’s voice not the Messire’s that answered. “Enter.”

I took a deep breath and opened the door. “Good morning, Messire, Esquires.” I bowed low.

The Sieur was there together with all three of his brothers, sat in a close half-circle with Myred and Camarl to represent the coming generation. Painted, the faces would have looked like studies of the same man at different ages. Young Myred, dutifully silent at the back, still had the bloom of early manhood, flesh softening chin and cheekbones but waist still trim beneath his close cut coat. Camarl showed the incipient family stoutness overcoming the fitness lent by youth but the years he had over his cousin sharpened his gaze with experience gained. Next in age was Ustian, Messire’s younger brother, who still travelled seven seasons out of the eight, seeing how the House’s vast holdings were managed at first hand. He was the plumpest of the four brothers, an inoffensive, round little man with a mind like a steel trap hidden beneath leaves. Long leagues on the road showed in lines around his eyes that Camarl as yet lacked. While the Sieur was still a man in his prime, Esquire Fresil, on Messire’s left, was visibly further down the slope towards Saedrin’s door. Leishal, master of the House’s estates around Moretayne since the days of the old Sieur and seldom seen in Toremal, was not much older. But even those few years made a difference: his legs were thinned with old age, spindly beneath his paunch, his face sinking to show the bones of his skull. Where Myred’s eyes were a vibrant stormy blue, Leishal’s were faded nearly to colourless, deeply hooded beneath a wrinkled forehead. For all that, his wits were still honed sharp by three generations’ unquestioning service of his Name.

“Good day to you, Ryshad.” Avila sat across the room beside the fireplace, expression bland, ankles crossed beneath a frivolously yellow-sprigged white gown.

“Where were you?” barked Esquire Leishal.

“Retrieving what was stolen from the House, Esquire,” I said politely.

Temar took a pace to stand beside me, one hand laid on the leather bag. “We believe everything is here.”

Avila shifted in her seat with a rustle of silk but I’d have had to turn my head to look at her. I didn’t feel that would be wise; displeasure hung in the air like the promise of summer thunder.

“You didn’t have time to tell anyone where you were going?” asked Ustian.

“I chose not to, Esquire.” I faced him squarely. “The person who gave me the information asked me to keep it in confidence.”

“There are no secrets between sworn man and master,” snapped Fresil. “What do you mean by taking D’Alsennin into danger? The boy’s barely out of bandages!”

“Your pardon, but I answer neither to Ryshad nor to any D’Olbriot.” Temar’s face was stern. “I crossed the ocean to seek these stolen treasures. Life and honour are both my own to risk in that quest.”

“Maitresse Den Castevin has no high opinion of your honour,” retorted Fresil.

In the corner of my eye I saw Avila sit forward, mouth thin with anger. The Sieur nodded to her and she stayed silent but from the surprise on Fresil’s face I’d wager any coin she was giving him a very hard look.

“A great number of people tell you things in confidence, Ryshad,” Ustian said genially. “Two are waiting to see you as we speak.”

Camarl rang a little hand bell and a blank-faced footman ushered two people through the far door, my brother Mistal and Charoleia’s errand boy, Eadit, who was looking like a mouse in a room full of cats. I really did hope he wasn’t here to ask for her dance card because I couldn’t see Messire taking kindly to that.

“Fair Festival, advocate.” Camarl’s smile was broad with all the confidence of rank. “Anything you wish to say to Ryshad can be said before the Sieur and Esquires.”

Mistal bowed elegantly to the assembled nobility. “I’ve been trying to determine who is paying Master Premeller to act as a friend of the court.”

“Why bring the news to your brother and not to Esquire Camarl or the Sieur?” asked Leishal sternly.

“I did not wish to presume on their honours’ time.” Mistal bowed again.

“Just tell us what you’ve found out,” Ustian invited.

Mistal raised a hand to the front of the advocate’s gown he wasn’t wearing. “Master Premeller owes a sizeable sum to one Stelmar Hauxe, goldsmith.”

“Money-lender,” commented Leishal with disapproval.

“Quite so.” Mistal smiled without humour. “According to the advocate who shares his rooms, Premeller’s just defaulted on the interest for the second quarter running, but for some reason he hasn’t suffered the bruising that kept him in bed for most of Equinox.”

“Why does Hauxe want Premeller snapping at our heels?” Fresil barked. “We’ve never done business with the man.”

“Hauxe rents premises by the quarter from Aymer Saffan,” continued Mistal, “who leases them by the five-year from Tor Bezaemar.”

“Which proves nothing,” Leishal grunted.

“Saffan has just granted Hauxe a season’s exemption on his rent,” offered Mistal.

“You’ll never trace that back to Tor Bezaemar,” Fresil scoffed.

“Indeed.” Ustian was considering this news. “I could imagine a handful of explanations before implicating another noble House in deliberate malice.”

Training in the courts made Mistal equal to this. “Would any of those alternatives explain Premeller’s unexpected hostility to D’Olbriot? Has he ever shown any predilection for honourable disinterest?”

The Sieur raised his hand and everyone fell silent.

“Ryshad, introduce your other visitor,” Camarl prompted.

“This is Eadit.” I tried to put some reassurance in my voice. “He works for the person who helped us secure the stolen artefacts.”

“Speak, boy!” barked Leishal.

Eadit cleared his throat nervously. “I came to tell you Fenn Queal was visited yesterday morning by a valet recently dismissed by Tor Bezaemar. That valet’s been seen drinking with one Malafy Skern, a pensioner from Tor Bezaemar’s service. That’s all I know.”

Camarl spoke up at once. “I passed on Esquire D’Alsennin’s concerns to the Sieur yesterday.” His intent look forbade me to pursue the matter in Eadit’s hearing. “Advocate, Master Eadit, you have our thanks.”

Messire dismissed both with a gesture and Mistal hustled Eadit out of the room.

“More conjecture and gossip,” scowled Ustian.

“We can’t set any of this before the court,” Fresil agreed.

“You cannot in all conscience ignore this,” said Avila with rising ire. “In the Old Empire such weight of suspicion would have been enough to call out your Cohorts against Tor Bezaemar!”

“We have different fields of combat in this day and age,” Fresil said sharply. “Never fear, Demoiselle, we’ll set as much before Imperial justice as we can when the sessions resume after Festival. In the meantime we can take other steps against Tor Bezaemar, and who knows, sufficient provocation may prompt them to betray themselves.

“That would lend weight to our arguments,” agreed Leishal to general approval.

“If your Emperor declares against them in this court?” Temar folded his arms abruptly. “Will that curb their malice?”

“We’ll have won a significant battle,” said Ustian with a smile of amusement.

“Not the war?” persisted Temar.

“That will take a little longer.” But Leishal’s dour words made it clear the outcome wasn’t in question.

“That’s our concern, not yours, D’Alsennin.” The Sieur spoke for the first time. “You’re to be congratulated on recovering your artefacts.”

“I could not have done so without Ryshad,” Temar said pointedly.

“Quite so.” The Sieur’s bland face was unreadable. “And now you can prepare to celebrate your good fortune at the Emperor’s dance.” He smiled at Avila, who raised a sceptical eyebrow. “My lady Channis will run through the etiquette.” Courteous as it was, Messire’s dismissal was unmistakable.

“I must secure that bag first,” said Avila. “If you are finally letting your tenantry inside your walls, Ostrin knows who might slip in unnoticed with theft on their minds.”

“As you see fit. Channis awaits your convenience.” Messire’s face showed none of the indignation darkening Fresil’s face beside him.

Camarl rang the bell to summon the doorkeeper. I moved to follow Temar.

“Where are you going, Ryshad?” barked Ustian.

I turned back, opting for silence as the safest response.

“Sit down, Ryshad,” Messire invited. I took a chair by the table as the door closed behind me.

“If you recovered D’Alsennin’s spoils for him, you must know who stole them.” Camarl leaned forward. “Why isn’t he chained in the gatehouse?”

“His name is Jacot, and if I’d been able I’d have dragged him here by his heels,” I answered readily. “But Temar and I would’ve had to fight through twice our number to do that. I’d have risked it with another sworn or chosen, but I wasn’t about to chance D’Alsennin.”

“So he escapes to boast he robbed D’Olbriot and lived to tell the tale,” snapped Ustian.

“Why didn’t you take enough men to capture this thief?” the Sieur asked mildly.

“I thought discretion more important than a show of strength,” I replied steadily.

“There’s blood on your boots, Ryshad,” Messire pointed out. “Someone spilled it. Granted I don’t see you or Temar wounded, but you’d have been safer with sworn swords around you.”